Note: This is fanfiction and is not mine. It is a fairly direct sequel to 'Elrond’s Boys', falling almost exactly thirty-seven years after than ended. I wanted to fill in the gap between the twins as cute little elflings, and Elladan and Elrohir as I wrote them in 'Finding Celebrían'. So it’s maybe more of an intermediate between those two stories than a sequel. I may not update with outstanding regularity, but I will finish it, and all my fanfictions in the end.

---

It was late autumn in Imladris by now. In the last weeks the air of the valley had become crisp with cold and the morning landscapes were dusted silver with frost. There was snow now on the peaks of the Misty Mountains and there were splashes of bright colour amidst the deep green of the forest slopes.

It was a gusty day, and the trees that surrounded the training fields were losing the last of their leaves in drifting clouds of reds and yellows and oranges. Being yet so early in the morning the soldiers of the Imladris Guard had not yet come to disturb the frosted grass, and the expanses of the meadows were smooth and silver but for two trails of footprints leading to the middle of the westernmost field.

“That one is mine.” Elladan nodded towards a large yellow ash leaf drifting down to the ground.

“Aye?” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes as he scanned the blizzard of falling leaves. “Then I shall take that red one.”

The golden-haired elf indicated a maple leaf being swept in circles by the wind.

Elladan looked at it appraisingly for a few moments before nodding and raising his bow. “Aye.”

Both elves drew back their bow strings, standing quite still as they took aim, then two arrows shot swiftly through the air. Elladan watched with breath held, hands still clenched tightly to his bow. Glorfindel however folded his arms behind his head and observed his arrow’s progress calmly, each frost-tinged breath regular and smooth.

“There!” Elladan cried out in elation, punching a fist into the air as the leaf was pinned into place against a tree trunk with a satisfying thunk.

“Well aimed.” Glorfindel said thoughtfully and turned with a grin to the ash tree where his own arrow had landed, the red leaf like a splash of blood against the silvery bark. “But your shot was skew.”

Elladan whirled to face him, his pride already fading to a scowl. The half-elf was yet young, barely a sapling compared to those who had trodden these paths for a thousand years or more, and at times attempting to meet the standards of his kin seemed a frustrating and fruitless task.

“You are learning fast.” Glorfindel clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “Soon I will fear your competition.”

Elladan flushed and wrenched himself away from his mentor. “There is no point to this!”

Glorfindel merely raised one brow and started to examine the gilded patterns that decorated his bow. Outbursts such as this had been all too common of late, but he knew from experience that the young half-elf needed a listening ear rather than counsel.

“I will never match you. Never! I can no more gain your years than you can lose them!” Elladan kicked at a stray conker, sending it bounding across the silvered grass. “There is no purpose to my training, and I shall never stand by your side as an equal.”

“Without a doubt you shall not if you do not allow yourself to learn.” Glorfindel said sharply, reaching out to grip Elladan’s arm and pull him closer. “Come, I shall show you.”

His anger fading as quickly as it had risen, Elladan consented to standing before the ancient elf and listened to the advice as it was given. Much as his inability to meet his own standards frustrated him, he enjoyed handling weapons, and felt much more at ease gripping a sword than a quill.

“Why cannot I join the Guard now?” Elladan grumbled, drawing back the bowstring and aiming as he had been instructed. “I could serve under your command.”

Glorfindel frowned as he adjusted the younger elf’s position. After Elladan had outgrown the tumultuous days of his childhood they had all hoped that the episodes of temper and insolence would pass, but now with both twins fast growing into the elves that they would become, the elder boy seemed restless.

“That would rely on my willingness to have you.” The Balrog-slayer pointed out an orange leaf and nodded. “And you are yet too young.”

Another arrow whistled through the air, striking the leaf squarely where the five veins met.

“You say that, but do not give me my chance!” Elladan glared up at Glorfindel, drawing himself to his full height. “Allow me to prove myself! Please!”

With his forty-seventh begetting day now a handful of days behind him, and only a couple of inches below his father in height, the elder son of Elrond was growing into a handsome elf. Although identical, the differences between the boys were growing more noticeable everyday, and whilst Elladan wore his hair loose but for two slender braids pulling dark strands from his eyes, his brother still favoured the tighter braids of his youth. Since his mother had ceased to dress and tidy the twins each morning, Elladan’s appearance had gone steadily downhill. His shirt was hanging casually loose over his leggings and he had not bothered to fasten the top few buttons of his shirt.

Breaking his gaze, Glorfindel turned aside, picking up dropped arrows and stowing them back into his quiver.

“You prove yourself in all that you do and say, Elladan.”

---

Humming to himself, Elrohir walked slowly through the cloisters that surrounded the courtyard. He had been out in the gardens since dawn, playing his flute under Erestor’s instruction. They had practised together for a number of years now, since a short while before his tenth begetting day, and although his present flute was larger and plainer than his first, his enjoyment of making music had not changed.

The air was crisp and cold this morning and he would be glad of his breakfast and a steaming drink that would spread warmth back down to his fingertips. Later in the morning there would be lessons with his tutors, and then in the afternoon there would be training to endure, but in the evening he would be free to spend an hour or two in the Hall of Fire once more.

“Elrohir!” there was a clear and musical call from behind him and the young elf turned to find his mother running to join him. She was carrying a small basket filled with seed over one arm and the cherry red wool of her cape was damp with thawing frost.

“Greetings Ammë!” Grinning, Elrohir took the basket from his mother and offered her an arm. “You have been feeding the birds again?”

Laughing, Celebrían took her son’s hand and together they hurried back to their home for breakfast. The males of the family could never understand her pleasure in watching robins and chaffinches hop and scuffle over the seed that she threw down, and Elrohir’s voice had held its share of amusement.

“It is a reminder of such times as you were small.” Celebrían burst into giggles at the expression on her son’s face, and shook her silver curls out of her eyes. “Of how you and Elladan used to squabble over who should receive the next spoonful.”

---

The balcony of Elrond’s study had an unequalled view of the valley, from the sheer rock walls of the gorge to the last distant scrap of silver where the river curved out of sight. Deep green forests extended to the foot of the Misty Mountains to the east, but here in heart of the valley clearings and pastures and occasional bright specks of autumn colour broke up the blanket of trees. On the lighter green of the western training fields it was possible to make out a number of tiny dark green figures dancing to-and-fro, crossing swords and testing each other’s strength with spears.

“Elrohir was hurt not to be moved ahead.” Elrond took a sip of a steaming spicy drink and looked sharply at the elf standing next to him. “He has tried very hard.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel nodded, wrapping his hands around his mug to warm his fingers. “That I know.”

It was customary for those who governed Imladris to take a break from time to time, even when in the most important councils, and often as not Elrond and Glorfindel ended standing together on this most beautiful of terraces. As often as the old friends disagreed in counsel, they rarely allowed such matters to extend beyond the council chambers, and conversation on peaceful moments such as this was devoted to their friends and family.

“He was hoping to join Elladan, at last.”

The twins had not been in the same training group since one long summer when they were not yet ten years old. Since then Elladan had forged ahead, but Elrohir had been happy to linger. It was only now, as the time where they would have to take up arms to protect their people approached, that the younger twin had sought to match his brother.

“He is ready, but neither Ildruín nor I felt that he should be moved.” Glorfindel gave his friend a warning look, asking him not to interrupt. “Sometimes that which is hoped for is not wise. I would not have both him and his brother in the same group.”

“I had hoped that you would welcome them into your company.” Elrond sighed and put up a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. “I would feel safer if...”

His voice trailed off and Glorfindel gave him a sympathetic look. By virtue of their positions, the boys would both serve in the most prestigious of the many companies of the Imladris Guard, and neither Elrond nor Glorfindel held any illusions over what horrors lay before them.

“I will take them both under my command, and gladly.” Glorfindel said slowly. “But I would wait until it is time.”

“If Elladan is to join the Guard after his fiftieth begetting day, Elrohir should have joined him in training this year.” Elrond frowned as he pondered his friend’s decisions. His elder son was well in control of all his weapons, and was only biding his time until he reached the required age. Glorfindel insisted that all elves must complete three years in the most advanced of the training groups before he would consider them for induction into the Guard, and Elladan had already whiled away five years there. “I do not wish to ask Elladan to wait, for he is already impatient.”

Glorfindel took a long gulp of his drink and stared out unseeingly at the view.

“You assume two things, Peredhil, neither of which I will stand by. Firstly that your sons will be welcomed into my company together – they will not.” Glorfindel held up a firm hand to prevent the inevitable protest. “Secondly that Elladan will receive his initiation into the Guard in his fiftieth year. He is not ready.”

Momentarily struck dumb by this assessment of his sons’ progress – vastly different to the polite comments he usually received, Elrond made no murmur as his oldest friend continued.

“Elrohir is in no hurry to enter the Guard, although he will do his best to please you. I feel that he will benefit from lingering a while longer. He still loves his music and all that is good within Imladris. It will never be the same for him once he has seen the truth.”

Elrond sighed, recognising the sense in his friend’s words, but the burdens that fell on him as Lord of Imladris could not be lifted on a whim. “I wish that I could protect him, Glorfindel, but I cannot. They are no longer children and they grow beyond my grasp.”

“I took the leadership of my father’s house whilst still a child. I died a death...” Glorfindel took a deep breath, “A very terrible and painful death when not yet of age. Do not ask your sons to do likewise.”

Elrond gave him a quick look and placed a hand on his arm. The Balrog-slayer rarely spoke of that famous battle, and he had never heard him mention it before but in jest.

“And as for Elladan,” Glorfindel sounded suddenly weary, “he will be a great warrior in time, Elrond, I do not doubt it. I have not yet seen such talent in one so young, but he is not ready to serve under me. He needs to learn patience and respect. I will not take him until he will listen.”

---

It was late in the afternoon before the twins had the chance to sit down together to finish the increasingly arduous tasks set to them by their tutors. The winter sun was shining through the westward windows, lifting the gloom of the library, and glancing up from his papers Elladan could watch specks of dust dancing in the light. It would be good to get out of this musty place and breathe in the fresh mountain air once more, but there were reports to be completed before he could escape. Beside him, Elrohir was working with obvious concentration, head bent close to the paper and his mouth moving silently as he read.

“Can you pass...” Elladan waved his quill at the second of a pile of heavy books stacked at Elrohir’s elbow.

Without looking up, the younger twin passed his brother the desired volume and pulled a shared map closer. "It is on the fifth page.”

“My thanks.” Rather surprised at his brother’s unexpected helpfulness, Elladan flicked to the required paragraph and started reading. Elrohir tended to have quite stern views regarding the sharing of information.

“They were wrong to attack, I think.” Elrohir said thoughtfully, resting his chin in his palm and leaving an inky fingerprint on his cheek. “It cost them many lives.”

“But saved others!” Elladan said forcefully, glancing briefly down the page before closing the book. “I believe that it was a wise decision.”

Elrohir gave his brother a quick look and returned his attentions to his papers. He had no wish to argue the rights and wrongs or warfare with dinner approaching and their tasks not yet complete. “Nevertheless, I am glad that I was not there.”

“I wish I had been!” Elladan dipped his quill into the ink jar and scribbled something down. “I could be out fighting orcs already. In those days they did not keep those capable of handling a sword back simply because they were not of age!”

Elrohir snorted and blotted his work carefully before rolling the scroll a little further. Once again this year Ellladan had been passed over in admission to the Guard, and had seen others of less skill be welcomed into their companies with open arms. This was, needless to say, not to his pleasing.

“Would you rather be as Gil-galad? Sent out to lead his people to a bloody death whilst not yet full grown.”

Regardless of his brother’s warning, the elder twin continued his speech, fists curled tightly around the edge of the table.

“We seek to preserve rather than build, to use our powers to attempt to stem the tide of time.” Elladan’s voice was sharp with frustration. “I wish I had been born in the Ages past, when the glory of the elves was still bright and undiminished. I would have marched against Morgoth under Fingolfin. I would have stood beside our grandfather in Doriath.”

“Would you die as a child or be slain by your kin?” Elrohir frowned and set down his quill. “There are many tales of those times, and few are glorious.”

“Do you not see, Elrohir! The great tales of this world have already been told.” Ignoring his brother’s calm words, Elladan continued with a gleam in his eyes. “The time of the elves is over. There will be no place for us in the histories.”

“I care not.”

Shrugging, Elrohir returned to his parchment with no further comment. He was well used to his brother’s thoughts on such matters and they did not bother him. He wielded weapons more out of thought of duty than of valour, and the thought of being called upon to die for his people whilst still far from his majority had little appeal.

Curling his lip, Elladan reluctantly continued writing with an air of great impatience. Much as he tried to ignore it in the name of good sense, one simple fact remained.

He cared very much.

---

Reviewing is always very much appreciated, and I do listen to all comments and criticisms.

Note: This is fanfiction and is not mine.

- - -

It was a warm day for this time in the year, and the shadows that the sun cast on the patterned tiles of the highest terrace were clear and distinct. The sky was glorious blue, free from cloud, extending from the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains to the furthest of the green rolling hills in the south.

The wise octagonal ring of stone searing that surrounded the bell tower had become quite warm in the sunlight, and it was here that Elrohir was whiling away this last fine day before spring. He was sprawled on his back, the deep warmth of the stone seeping through the woollen cloth of his tunic, staring up at the sculpted leaves that adorned the underside of a ledge that ran around the tower, and straining his ears to hear the soft music being practised in the Hall of Fire far below.

The sun was circling slowly in the sky, each leaf edging into light and falling once more into shadow as the hours passed. Elrohir could name them all – ash, been, birch, oak, chestnut, alder, sycamore – for his mother had taught him many years before. He could remember her kneeling on the grass between him and his brother and giving names to the leaves they were weaving into garlands for the spring festival. They had been very young then, but he could remember how a few years later he and Elladan had stood beneath the great sycamore tree at the edge of the meadows and had jumped and leapt to catch the whirling sycamore seeds and drifting leaves. He had gathered the finest and most colourful, but Elladan had made rules and when they had played with them, had won.

“Master Elrohir!” a stern voice sounded somewhere behind him, and Elrohir jerked upright only to find Glorfindel grinning away to himself. “You have taken my seat!”

“Ah, but I was here first!” smirking, Elrohir stretched himself out, long and lean across the stonework. “You should have snuck away earlier!”

Glorfindel was dressed in his council robes – long flowing garments of light blue embroidered with golden flowers – a sure sign that he had been hoping for ten minutes to bask in the sun in the short respite between meetings. It had been a habit of his for many years now, and Elrohir could remember many afternoons when he and Elladan had waited up here to ambush him with handfuls of icy water from the fountain. He could not remember the reason why they had stopped, but he felt too awkward for such things now. Glorfindel too seemed to appreciate that times were changing for he had not pounced and tickled him into begging for mercy as he once would have done.

“It is a lovely day!” Elrohir said properly, swinging his boots down from the bench to make room for the golden-haired elf. “Elladan is practising.”

“Is he now,” the tiniest of furrows appeared on Glorfindel’s brow, but no trace of his opinion was evident in his voice, “and what are you doing, Elrohir?”

“I am being idle.” Elrohir’s eyes met Glorfindel’s for a moment and both grinned. “I am watching the shadows change and listening to the water sing over the falls and smelling the sap and wood smoke. I am behaving in a manner quite unfit for Lord Elrond’s half-grown son.”

“And what manner is fit for the esteemed Lord Elrond’s sons?” Glorfindel asked lightly, wondering where this new turn of phrase had originated. Elrohir was a daydreamer and they all laughed about it, but there was a note of bitterness behind his good-natured tone.

“I have not been advanced with the rest of my training group, Glorfindel.” Elrohir said at last, staring out at the roaring rush of the waterfall and rubbing his cheek with his fist. “I cannot join the Guard now when everyone else does.”

“When Elladan does.” Glorfindel amended.

Elrohir acknowledged the truth of this remark with a small grunt.

“Everyone will wonder why. Ada must be so ashamed. If I had only practised harder…”

He trailed off into a dejected silence, causing the Balrog-slayer to give him a sympathetic glance.

“But if you do not enjoy using the sword, why hurry?” Glorfindel said placidly, flinging an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders. “There is plenty of time yet to learn of war.”

“You do not understand!” suddenly angry, Elrohir tore himself away from the embrace. “My father is the Master of this House. Things are expected of me! People notice things!”

Sighing, Glorfindel moved to rest his elbows on his knees and sank his chin into his palms.

“How much do you know of my story, Elrohir?”

His voice held an unfamiliar note, and Elrohir gave him a slightly puzzled look before continuing.

“Ada has told us of it, of course. Minstrels sing of it, Glorfindel. Everyone knows your story.”

Glorfindel shook his head slowly and spoke wearily, “But that is only song, Elrohir, and song is a small price to be paid for your life and your innocence. People sing of my valiance and my bravery, but it does not make the memories dim or bring back what I have lost.”

Elrohir looked worriedly at the Balrog-slayer for a minute before faltering, “But you have lots of friends here, Glorfindel.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel said grimly, staring morosely out at the angry crashing foam of the waterfall. Then, realising how anxious the young half-elf looked, he softened his tone. “Aye, so I have. But I had others in Gondolin that I loved. I was younger than you are now when my father was slain and I inherited the colours of my house. I knew then that the day would come when I would be called upon to face death for my people, and it did not linger in is coming. Do not seek to hasten that day for yourself, Elrohir. There is little valour in death itself, only fear and pain.”

- - -

“And how shall you spend this fine afternoon, Erestor!” Making his excuses to Elrond and his guests in the aftermath of the council, Glorfindel strode down the hallway, rapidly catching up with the Chief Counsellor, who appeared to be attempting to carry an entire library of scrolls in his arms. “May I be of aid?”

“My thanks, but no…” Erestor’s velvet clad arms tightened possessively around the rolls of parchment as the Balrog-slayer fumbled to take some, only causing to knock a few onto the floor. “Glorfindel! There is no need!”

“But you cannot manage those by yourself!” Glorfindel bent to pick up the fallen scrolls and unfortunately managed to catch Erestor’s elbow with his shoulder as he straightened, sending fresh rolls of parchment sliding across the hallway.

“Believe me, Glorfindel, I can manage quite well!” Erestor said in a tight voice, ungratefully accepting the two remaining unsullied scrolls from the beaming Balrog-slayer. “Why do you not go and practice your sword play?”

Chuckling, Glorfindel was about to respond in kind when there was a patter of running footsteps and a small flurry of dark hair and red cloth flung itself at the ancient elf.

“Glorfindel! Quick! Adar is coming! Quick!”

“He is?” grinning, Glorfindel wrapped a tent of blue velvet around the boy, keeping an eye out for his second-in-command. They had important matters to discuss, but they would be best kept for a time when his tiny son was not present. “Is this he?”

“Yargh!” Shrieking in delicious glee at the sight of his father, the elfling leapt out from behind Glorfindel’s legs and skittered across the hallway to safety, unfortunately managing to knock Erestor off balance as he did so.

Sighing, Erestor gathered up his papers once again, muttering something derogatory about elflings. "It is a mercy that Elladan and Elrohir have grown too old for such things at last! How anything managed to be done whilst they were small I do not know!”

“You have confidence that Elrond and Celebrían have no wish to bring another into this world?” Glorfindel grinned briefly at his friend as he ambled past after his son, and resumed teasing Erestor. “That I do not share!”

“They will surely not. Elrond grows old for such matters!” Looking quite shocked Erestor gave the unsuspecting Lord of Imladris a thoroughly disapproving look. “He already has two sons!”

“Ah, Erestor!” mocking sympathy, Glorfindel danced out of the way of a retaliatory shove. “Have you not seen the way that they look at each other? It will not be long before this House is gifted with another squalling elfling, mark my words!”

- - -

Bright though the sun was, it had not diminished the icy edge to the air down in the depths of the valley. The frost had melted on the grass by now, leaving tiny silver droplets hanging from sagging green blades, but each warm breath still misted the crisp air.

Although the training fields had been busy earlier in the day, they were all but deserted by now – the young elves trailing away in twos and threes for their dinners or duties in the farms or stables. Only a few remained behind, scattered across the expanse of the meadow.

“It is time we were heading home!” one young elf called out, his voice clear through the still air. “Come Nerion, we must call the cattle in before dusk!”

The other elf, currently involved in a sword fight so brutal that it would have caused raised eyebrows if not a reprimand had their training masters been present, did not reply. Assuming that his friend had heard his warning, Tenar wiped his sword on one of the coarse tufts of grass that grew under the ash trees and re-sheathed his weapon.

The battling pair were now the only two remaining on the field, weaving to-and-fro, ducking to dodge blows and meeting blade with blade with harsh clangs of metal. Frowning, Tenar called his friend once again. Since Nerion had started practising with Lord Elrond’s eldest son, he rarely returned home without cuts and bruises in need of care. He was rarely on time either, and often he found himself completing their tasks on the farm alone. His mother and aunt disapproved of the acquaintance, he knew, and now that he thought about it, he did not like it either. Elladan had been in this training group for longer than Nerion, and was an inch or two taller to boot, but was showing little mercy in his attack.

As he watched, the smaller elf’s boot slipped on a patch of damp grass and he stumbled momentarily. Seeing his chance of victory, Elladan lunged forwards, swinging his sword against his opponent’s shoulder with what - if not his full strength, must have been close.

“Nerion!” alarmed when his friend failed to rise, Tenar rushed to his aid, pushing Elladan roughly aside. “Are you well?”

“I am fine.” Nerion spoke in a wobbly voice, still clutching his upper arm. He could feel warm blood trickling between his fingers, but it was not enough to be dangerous, and certainly not enough for tears. “I was catching my breath.”

“You have hurt him!” tearing his friend’s fingers aside to examine the wound, Tenar looked furiously up at Elladan. “You have sliced through his armour!”

“It is just a scratch!” Still grinning triumphantly, Elladan gave the pair a dismissive look. “And it is only leather. Had he been wearing mail it would not have breached it.”

As was customary for elves in their training group, the pair had been wearing only tough leather shirts and gloves by way of protection, full armour normally only being worn on the rare occasions when especially dangerous moves needed practice.

“But he was not wearing mail! You knew he was not!” rising to his feet, Tenar shoved Elladan squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards in his surprise. “Why do you always have to win? It is only practice, it does not matter!”

“We are practising to fight!” Hurriedly sheathing his sword, Elladan balled his fists by his side and glared at his attacker. He knew Tenar from training, and could remember exactly where his weak points were. “The orcs will show you no mercy, and neither will I!”

Narrowing his eyes, Tenar helped Nerion to his feet and set off across the field, spitting behind him, “A fine ambition, to fight as an orc!”

For a moment, Elladan considered racing after them and showing Tenar exactly what no mercy meant, but before he could move there was a quiet voice behind him.

“That was a shameful show, ion nîn.”

“Ammë!” Elladan whirled around to face his mother, his horror at being caught showing all to well on his fair face. “I did not know that you were watching.”

Celebrían gave him a far from friendly look. “That I had gathered.”

Her eyes lingered on her son’s right hand, still tightly clenching the hilt of his sword, and flushing, Elladan hastened to remove it.

“It was but a fight, Ammë. That is what warriors do. You would not understand!” Elladan’s annoyance was clear in his voice, and his tone was sharp. His mother had no right to lurk under the trees watching him, and even less right to scold him for his actions. Had he been allowed to join the Guard, it would not even be an issue anyway.

“Maybe I do not, but I have seen enough to know one thing,” cheeks flushed in anger, Celebrían glared at her son. “You are not one.”

His cheeks now hot with badly suppressed fury, Elladan opened his mouth to retaliate, but before he could speak his mother had resumed her tirade.

“I have known many that are renowned for their glory in battle, and I am yet to see one stoop to such lows. Your father may be strong but he does not seek to wound without need, and whatever you may hear about Glorfindel, I have never known him to respond with unnecessary force. My father would certainly never strike one unarmed, and the High-King Gil-galad – had he been here to see you, he would have been ashamed.” Celebrían paused to draw breath, her whole body quivering with rage. “As am I! Today, Elladan, you disgust me!”

There was a tense silence between the two of them as she silenced, then Elladan responded in an angry, resentful shout.

“I did not mean to hurt him!” taut with anger, Elladan’s hand instinctively reached for his sword and Celebrían flinched, her face telling her son more than he wanted to know. Suddenly feeling sick, he let his hands fall to his sides and spoke in a voice that was both quieter and more shaken than he would have liked. “I did not!”

He looked small and lost suddenly, among the tall and ancient trees, and with heart still pounding from her fright, Celebrían moved to comfort him.

“I know. I know.” Celebrían cupped his chin in her palm and stroked his wild hair back into order, as if he was once more a small child in need of soothing after a tantrum. “You have so much strength, Elladan. So much. If you do not tame it, it will take you.”

- - -

Well, that’s about it for now. Please review and let me know what you think. It’s tricky to write ‘teenage’ twins.